


Will you think of me sometimes?

by 62miles



Series: Anosmia [1]
Category: SHINee
Genre: Angst, Illness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:17:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4599504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/62miles/pseuds/62miles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>You're a fucking idiot.</i> No one says that out loud, but all three of them hear it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will you think of me sometimes?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2012 as the first in "a series of related short pieces", as I had called it at the time. The prequel that established the characters, their relationships, and the major time points in the plotline had been completed originally in 2011 and in a different language. It had been an immature effort, given my newness to writing back then, but it birthed this sequel in which I've indulged myself to write as whimsically as I wanted. Like all stories precious to me, it was and remains a selfish endeavor.
> 
> Named Anosmia, this series was originally written in first person and posted to LJ as chapters. Now, I will recast a select few of those "chapters" in third person for AO3. So as to share a little with those who find it difficult to read in first person.
> 
> A shout out to the ever lovely Bell, who kept me company throughout the writing of this series (and more!) and who has generously shared many thoughts on the story as I wrote it.

 

 

 

 

 

"What does it feel like?"  
  
  
"It hurts."  
  
  
Minho frowns.  
  
  
"Or if you want three words, feels like crap." Jinki volunteers, a twinkle in his eye. "And if you stick an _it_ in the beginning, that makes four."  
  
  
"Crap hurts?" Minho runs his fingers over the swollen back of Jinki's hand.  
  
  
" _Well_. Given that I've been put on laxatives for the first time in my life just so I can evacuate my bowels normally..."  
  
  
Minho chuckles. Jinki cracks a smile.  
  
  
"You know how much it sucks?"  
  
  
"Being on laxatives?"  
  
  
"I was going to talk about number one, you know." Jinki doesn't lift his arms but Minho can still see him putting air quotes around that one. "Not number two."  
  
  
"Okay. What about number one?"  
  
  
"Have you ever really wanted to pee? Like, _really_ badly? But you can't?"  
  
  
"Because there's no washroom nearby?"  
  
  
"I guess that's a no."  
  
  
"Because there's always a washroom nearby."  
  
  
"But that's part of it. They've put me on like a gazillion things, laxatives included, but I still hurt _and_ I feel like I need to _go_ far too often."  
  
  
"You have the...thing......though." Minho gestures. For a moment, it's awkward.  
  
  
"It's not actually about the toilet—"  
  
  
"Oh for the love of God, can't you two find something else to talk about?" Kibum cuts in from the other side of the bed. He's waving a knife around, looking rather murderous. The effect is enhanced by his slightly bloodshot eyes. "I'm peeling a _fucking_ apple here!"  
  
  
"Keep peeling, you're almost done and the skin hasn't broken off yet." Jinki offers some distraction to save Minho from Kibum's wrath, because they all know that when it comes to Kibum, Jinki is never going to bear the brunt of the attack, even if he _is_ the one who said _crap_ first.  
  
  
Kibum immediately softens when he looks at Jinki. "I've gotten a lot better at this, right?"  
  
  
Jinki's eyes disappear into crescents and he just smiles.  
  
  
Kibum lowers his head again, appeased. Minho can see his roots. They are black. He wonders if Kibum knows they're showing.  
  
  
  
  
When Kibum is done and the entire yellow coil lands in the baby blue vomit tray, he places it on his cousin's blanket covered lap. Minho grabs another tray for Kibum to cut the apple in. One ninety-degree turn per cut makes for four slices in total. Minho moves to reach for one, but his hand is forced to change course when the squarish core comes flying his way, suspiciously well-aimed at his face.  
  
  
" _I_ peeled the apple." Kibum still has the knife in hand.  
  
  
"A core is pretty good. Look, I only get the peel!" Jinki pats Minho's hand.  
  
  
 _But that isn't what I am upset about_ , thinks Minho.  
  
  
 _Or rather, I'm not upset._  
  
  
  
  
Minho watches as Jinki arranges the peel in tighter and tighter loops, trying to hold everything in the right place. It hits him after a while. He gets it. Jinki is trying to make a flower.  
  
  
"Do you want tape?"  
  
  
"What?" The syllable is mostly made up of air. Jinki's hands let go of the peel and fall limply against his stomach. He sinks a little deeper into the pillows.  
  
  
"Tape. And a pencil maybe?"  
  
  
"Mm..." He suddenly looks a little faint.  
  
  
Kibum spits a chunk of apple back out into the tray—well, it _is_ a vomit tray —and jumps to his feet. He finds the lever on his side. "Are you okay? Do you want to go back to sleep?" He doesn't get an answer. "I'll lower the bed." Minho wordlessly grabs the tray with the coil of apple peel and moves it out of the way.  
  
  
"I'm fine." Jinki's eyelids flutter and he makes the effort to lift a hand up to his mouth.  
  
  
"You're _not_ fine." Kibum's eyes are moist.  
  
  
"Bummie, can you get me tape?"  
  
  
 _You're a fucking idiot._ No one says that out loud, but all three of them hear it.  
  
  
"And a pencil too, please." He adds, looking up through his lashes, and Kibum relents.  
  
  
  
  
Half an hour later, Jinki is barely awake when Minho is done making the eraser end of a green HB pencil bloom with an apple peel rose. It's sloppy and lopsided and absolutely hideous. The inside surface of the peel has long since turned rusty brown and the edges are starting to curl inward.  
  
  
"Wow, that's hands down the ugliest thing I've ever seen!"—is Kibum's conclusion after scrutinizing Minho's handiwork.  
  
  
"I never did arts and crafts as a kid."—is Minho's defense.

  
"You must have had one sad childhood."  
  
  
Kibum has a way of making you speechless. It didn't take more than a few minutes of knowing him for Minho to figure that out.  
  
  
"It's still the ugliest thing I've ever seen."  
  
  
Kibum doesn't change his opinion after a second round of examination. But he does fuss over the wannabe flower a little more before sticking it into his plastic water bottle and placing the bizarre arrangement next to the pot of heartsease, right by the head of the bed.  
  
  
  
  
None of them speak much after that.  
  
  
  
  
When Kibum gets up to go use the washroom, Minho feels a finger nudge his palm. The next breath that he sucks in doesn't go back out. He tries to pull his chair even further forward so that when Jinki speaks, he won't miss a word. It doesn't quite work though, because it dawns on Minho that, why yes, he indeed has legs and that his legs take up space.  
  
  
So Minho makes do: he leans forward and waits.  
  
  
He waits.  
  
  
Because he know Jinki has something to say.  
  
  
But all Jinki ends up doing is rolling his head the other way.  
  
  
Minho waits a little more.  
  
  
Just when he's about to give up, the other man murmurs something.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Will you think of me sometimes?"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 _What?_  
  
  
  
  
"Will you?"  
  
  
  
  
Jinki's fingers are like matchsticks inside Minho's grasp.  
  
  
  
  
"So? Will you?"  
  
  
  
  
And then Minho realizes that when Jinki rolled his head away, he was trying to get a good look at that awkward roll of apple peel taped to the pencil's butt. He's been staring at it all along. Kibum's voice comes back to haunt Minho. _Wow, that's hands down the ugliest thing I've ever seen._  
  
  
  
  
"Do you want roses?" Minho tries to laugh.  
  
  
  
  
Jinki is still staring at it when he abruptly pulls his fingers away from Minho and covers his face with both of his hands. He lets out a loud wretched noise as he deflates against the bed. Underneath the blankets, his body curls till his knee hits the armrest of Kibum's empty chair.  
  
  
  
  
Minho watches him, dumbstruck, as he sobs into the pillow.  
  
  
  
And then.  
  
  
  
And then Minho finally realizes exactly _what_ it is that he just said.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 _Do you want roses?_  
  
  
  
It was the stupidest question to ask.  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
